Neal woke up screaming. He curled in on himself instinctively, dragged his limbs in, covered his head with his hands. He could smell blood, nothing but blood and that particular bite that said winter was there and wasn't letting go.
He screamed until his breath gave out, starting to cough as he sucked in cold air. The struggle to breathe short-circuited his panic, forced the realization that there were no claws in his back, no nameless horror tearing him in two. He uncurled just enough to really look at his surroundings, the red-lit street, the blood all around him.
His legs. He ran his hands over them, up and down, lost in the heaviness of his own body, the desperate relief that he left the weightlessness of bisection behind. Eventually he just curled up on his side, shuddering, crying silently, staring into space. He knew he needed to move. What was left of his instinct to survive told him he needed to move.
The rest of him somehow couldn't act on the message. It was like he sat behind his own eyes, watching a body that didn't belong to him any more, a spectator to limbs he could feel but couldn't shift.
He had to get up eventually. Eventually, he heard Raylan screaming his name and Negan's. That got him to move.
But he came back to the spot after they'd all searched 1306. After they'd split off from each other to try and see if they could find some inkling of the others. Neal changed, at least, wearing the coat that Doc left in the house rather than his own meltwater-soaked one. He stared at the spot where he died for a while in silence, the blood frosting there, the pit where he'd woken up frozen over.
He wasn't sure why he did it. But after a silence that lasted either forever or no time at all, he stepped back into the little dip in the snow, slowly curling up inside it again and closing his eyes.
If death was going to take, he wished it would hurry up.
Trauma Llama - Closed to Daisy
He screamed until his breath gave out, starting to cough as he sucked in cold air. The struggle to breathe short-circuited his panic, forced the realization that there were no claws in his back, no nameless horror tearing him in two. He uncurled just enough to really look at his surroundings, the red-lit street, the blood all around him.
His legs. He ran his hands over them, up and down, lost in the heaviness of his own body, the desperate relief that he left the weightlessness of bisection behind. Eventually he just curled up on his side, shuddering, crying silently, staring into space. He knew he needed to move. What was left of his instinct to survive told him he needed to move.
The rest of him somehow couldn't act on the message. It was like he sat behind his own eyes, watching a body that didn't belong to him any more, a spectator to limbs he could feel but couldn't shift.
He had to get up eventually. Eventually, he heard Raylan screaming his name and Negan's. That got him to move.
But he came back to the spot after they'd all searched 1306. After they'd split off from each other to try and see if they could find some inkling of the others. Neal changed, at least, wearing the coat that Doc left in the house rather than his own meltwater-soaked one. He stared at the spot where he died for a while in silence, the blood frosting there, the pit where he'd woken up frozen over.
He wasn't sure why he did it. But after a silence that lasted either forever or no time at all, he stepped back into the little dip in the snow, slowly curling up inside it again and closing his eyes.
If death was going to take, he wished it would hurry up.